I feel a little overwhelmed. I've been working on several short stories, all with publication dates in February; I've been building a massive new website for my friends; I'm practicing for the National Counselor Examination for my license; and I've been preparing for the OWFI writing contest and conference. I keep thinking that my tendency to procrastinate had something to do with this.

But there's no time for blame. I'm taking a short break from my daily routine to write a post that Erin recommended. It's an alphabetical list about...well...it's kinda self-explanatory. Without further ado, behold!

26 Things About Me

A — Age. I'm 32 years old. Some people might be hesitant to say their own age, but I think I've earned these years. I'm proud of them. And I think the fact that men tend to be prouder of their age than women is a sad sociocultural construction that needs to be shattered. Speak your age proudly, and fuck anyone who says anything. Be proud of the age you've earned.

Yeah, this isn't gonna be just letters and me talking about me. That'd be boring for me. What? Did you think I blogged for you? Selfish.

B — Biggest Fear. I have a small phobia of decapitation. You may say, “It's not a phobia if it's a reasonable fear," but I'm telling you it's totally unreasonable. Like, I get the jitters if I'm up on a step ladder and a ceiling fan is too close to my head. Where the ceiling fan in question is on the lowest setting, and “too close to my head" means it's within two feet of my hair. Terrifying.

Adrean loves to joke about how terrified I was on Space Mountain at Disney World because there was so much stuff passing over our heads. I wouldn't raise my arms at all. I should also mention that the guy in front of me did raise his arms, and he was over six feet tall.

Why hasn't a counselor, who knows that specific phobia is one of the easiest-to-treat anxiety disorders in existence (except for blood, injection, and injury phobias), sought treatment for this? Well, I think it's funny. I'd hate to lose that. Also, it's not terribly distressing. I get anxious on roller coasters and around fans, but the fear doesn't actually stop me from doing the fun thing (or the necessary thing, if I happen to be cleaning the blades—why are they called blades?!). So it's not a high priority for me.

C — Cats. I love cats, but I have none of my own. I do essentially have one at Adrean's house. A cute little thing called Harley Quinn after the Batman villain of the same name. They're very similar, too, in that the cat is probably a psychotic murderer of small reptiles and insects.

I used to hate cats. When I was little, I had a little dissimulation of canaries. My mom used to keep them outside for me, on my second-floor balcony (the balcony was connected to the back porch by a back set of stairs and a sliding door that went right into my bedroom). One day, a cat got in, opened the cage (it was one of those doors that simply slide up), and ate them all. I hated cats after that.

It took me a while to forgive cats for being predators, but I did eventually. And now, Harley, a quintessential predator, is probably my favorite feline on the planet. She's loud, obnoxious, and needy, but she's so beautiful. If my allergies to those furry beasts were less severe, she'd be in my lap right now, cuddling.

D — Daughters. I have one adopted daughter, aged 23 years, going on 24. She's in grad school right now, and she's a talented artist. I won't say much about her because, unlike Harley, she has a right to privacy. Many people do want to know how a 32-year-old has a 23-year-old daughter. I point you to the keyword “adopted." Too many people miss that you don't have to get them as babies.

Can you imagine? At nine I could barely care for a turtle, let alone a baby girl!

E — Everyday Starts With... Waking up. Honestly, that's the only thing that everyday has in common for me. Sure, I shower and stuff, but it's not always the first thing I do! And I've clearly been taking every single one of these questions seriously. They demand attention!

Also, it's the hardest thing I have to do in the mornings. Once I'm up, I want to shower. I feel gross in the mornings, and my morning breath is so bad I can feel it in my mouth like a thick film of oozy, old saliva. I'm also hungry, so breakfast isn't an issue. I'm tired, so coffee will come into play at some point. But waking up? That's the one thing I don't want to do.

Especially now. It's winter, it's cold, it's snowy; and my bed is warm and comfy and I want to stay there forever and ever. Ripping off the sheets is like ripping off a band-aid. I don't wanna do it. So, yes, everyday starts with a struggle to get out of bed and figure out what I'm gonna do with the rest of my day.

I think I'm gonna stop there for now. I'll work on doing these five at a time, but I promise detailed and exciting answers to each of the alphabetically organized question-fragments. Good day to all of you!